In Good Faith: Getting the GOAT's Goat

In my December In Good Faith column, I try to jam as many football references and analogies into a single article, while focusing on this season of gratitude.

Getting the GOAT’s Goat

Tom Brady is cranky. The Patriots’ quarterback — he of the six Super Bowl rings, universally

acclaimed GOAT (Greatest of All Time), and future first ballot Hall of Famer — is not happy. In this, his 20th season in the NFL, his team is sitting atop its division and the Patriots hold the best record in the conference. 

So, what’s gotten the GOAT’s goat? Mostly it’s the way his team is winning and the lack of a supporting cast he deems worthy of the greatest sports dynasty to ever take the field in the modern era. The Patriots continue to rack up wins, but it hasn’t always been in Brady’s accustomed highlight reel fashion. 

This crabbiness was particularly apparent following the team’s 17-10 win over the mediocre Philadelphia Eagles on November 17. At the post-game press conference, he came across like a petulant child who had been dragged into the principal’s office, rather than the winningest quarterback in NFL history.

In fairness, this quarterback crankiness may be what has kept Brady at the top of his game for so long. His drive for perfection in the pursuit of winning is the fuel that fires championships. Dropped balls, sloppy routes, and a lack of preparation will render receivers dead to QB12 — a state from which there is no resurrection. And Brady is clearly frustrated when neither he nor his teammates execute the game plan at the highest possible level. 

Of course, we all get a bit cranky when we hit our early 40s and things don’t come quite as easily, physically speaking, as they once did. For Brady, this may mean throwing fewer than four touchdown passes on any given Sunday. For mere mortals like you and me, it may mean pulling a back muscle while bending down to get the colander out of the bottom shelf of the kitchen cabinet. That’s enough to make anyone a bit ornery.

The bigger picture during this season of giving thanks, is finding joy in and offering gratitude for the blessings of your life. An attitude of gratitude may not win you a shiny Vince Lombardi Super Bowl trophy, but it sure is a healthier way to live. Focusing on the fact that you’re 10-1 rather than that you may have fumbled once or twice along the way, leads to joyful living. As perspective is an important piece of the equation, you need to get your head out of the huddle from time to time and take in the broader view. There are some stunning vistas out there, if only we take the occasional time out to enjoy them.

So, while Tom Brady doesn’t need any career or life advice from me (full disclosure: this Baltimore boy is a Ravens fan), I do hope he’ll enjoy this season. Not the football season, necessarily, but this entire holiday season from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Because ultimately it offers us an invitation. Not to a fancy dinner party or even an informal gathering around the television to watch football. But an invitation to pause and give thanks; to take a moment to reflect upon the stunning goodness of God’s love and mercy; and to acknowledge our many and varied blessings. 

We may still occasionally rue the mistakes made by the rookie receivers in our lives. But we can still give thanks for their effort and the strides they have made on the learning curve. Even as we recognize that we can all stand to grow in gratitude.

In Good Faith: A Football Life

In my November In Good Faith column I write about my increasingly complicated relationship with the game of football. It's a game I love and continue to watch, even as the culture of violence and medical realities begin to emerge from behind the curtain.

A Football Life

I like football. For those who know me, this is hardly a revelation. I’m a rabid Baltimore Ravens fan. But only because my beloved Baltimore Colts stole out of town by cover of darkness in 1984 as the arch-villain of my childhood, owner Robert Irsay, moved them to Indianapolis. 

I grew up cheering for Colts quarterback Bert Jones, eating at the Johnny Unitas Golden Arm Restaurant, and I even have a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium in my living room. Fine, that last part is only wishful thinking — my wife long ago exiled my prized possession to the screened-in porch.

So why am I suddenly struggling to find my usual unfettered joy in the Sunday afternoon NFL ritual? For years, after a full morning at church, I would look forward to planting myself on the sofa and reveling in the pageantry and strategy of professional football. When I served a downtown Baltimore parish I would even occasionally walk straight from church to the stadium to catch a game.

I still enjoy football and I still watch it every week, but something has changed. Something that has nothing to do with the fact that the Ravens are mired in a dreadful season while I live in the increasingly large shadow of Tom Brady and the Patriots. I mean, I don’t even want to go see my barber anymore for fear of the ribbing I’ll take from the owner. And I desperately need a haircut!

The reality is that nothing has changed — except our own comprehension. When I see a bone-crushing, helmet-to-helmet hit on a receiver going across the middle, I no longer think “Wow! He absolutely demolished that guy! What a play!” All I can see is the receiver’s brain rattling around his cranium and wonder whether that’s the hit that will cause him to slur his words in his 40s. Acronyms like TD and QB have been replaced by the one that really matters: CTE — Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. 

A number of people I know and respect have sworn off watching football on moral grounds. These aren’t folks on a moral crusade against a violent game they despise. Some of these people have been lifelong fans, some played the game themselves at high levels. Some have publicly announced their intentions on social media, some have simply and quietly turned off their televisions. Some are parents of children entering youth football age, some have never had kids. But what they have in common is the ability to see beyond the glitz and glamour to examine their own hearts.

I admit, I’m not there. I still watch football and (mostly) enjoy it. But their discomfort with the culture of violence has given me pause. And I’m grateful for their witness, a witness that may well turn out to be prophetic.

Who knows what the future holds for the National Football League? If I were a betting man, and I’m not (I don’t even play fantasy football), my guess is that in another generation or two professional football will look very different, both in terms of the game itself and the demographic it attracts. While the NFL is currently atop the world in viewership and income, don’t forget boxing and horse racing were once the top two revenue-generating sports in America. They’ve been shuttled to the periphery of athletic consciousness, a place football may well end up. 

In the meantime, along with much of America, I’m left to my own self-justifications. Though phrases like “the players knew the risk when they signed up” and “football builds character” ring increasingly hollow. 

Liturgical Fouls

This morning I wrote the following tongue-in-cheek Facebook post in reference to DeflateGate:

Wait, Tom Brady gets a four game suspension and a million dollar fine for violating the "integrity of the game," yet clergy who regularly violate the "integrity of the liturgy" go unreprimanded? Where's the justice!?

I was joking. Mostly. And I don't think "unreprimanded" is actually a word, but my archnemesis Scott Gunn responded with this comment: "So Tim, are you suggesting we should have referees to call penalties during the liturgy? Against priest or people, I assume. That could really improve things!"

Scott clearly doesn't read my blog closely enough. If he actually read, marked, and inwardly digested it to the degree it deserves, he would not only be wiser and better looking, he would also have known that I wrote about just such a scenario a few years ago.

In the interest of edifying Scott and capitalizing on DeflateGate, I have revised and updated my original post...

Have you ever fantasized about throwing a bright yellow penalty flag into the aisle when the priest wears the wrong liturgical color or the organist plays the opening hymn at the speed of a sick tortoise? Probably not. But at the intersection of football and liturgy and my twisted mind, there is always great convergence.

To assist you in exercising your God-given (literally) right to good liturgy, I’m offering my guide to liturgical fouls. I urge you to use this empowerment of the laity (and cranky visiting clergy) wisely and with discretion. I’ll soon make these penalty flags available on my website for a mere $49.99 and, yes, they only come in the appropriate liturgical colors

 

Heretical Trinitarian Theology

Deacon on Wrong Side of the Celebrant

Unseemly use of Liturgical Dance (Resembling Chicken Dance)

Happy Clappy Worship

Overly Enthusiastic Exchange of the Peace

Illegal Use of the Orans Position

Bishop Wearing Hideous Miter

Upon Further Review, The Sermon Had No Point

Illegal Procession (out of order)

"Can I get a witness?"

In this Sunday's gospel passage -- an account of one of Jesus' final post-Resurrection appearances -- Jesus tells the disciples "You are witnesses to these things." He was talking about the literal events surrounding the crucifixion and resurrection but also about the cosmic interaction between God and humanity as seen through his own life. And he left them, and all of us, with the challenge to be witnesses of our faith, not just innocent bystanders.

I think it's safe to say that most Episcopalians are witness-challenged. When it comes to using "witness" as a verb, we often fail to do our faith justice.

Yes, we're basically members of the Witness Protection Program. We'd rather have plastic surgery, change our names, and move out of state than stand up and boldly share our faith.

The thing about being a witness though -- whether in the legal system or as a testimony of faith -- is that you can't keep silent. It doesn't work that way. Because a witness is powerful only when he or she speaks truthfully and powerfully of that which was seen and heard.

Yesterday, as the verdict of "guilty" was handed down in the Aaron Hernandez murder trial, we encountered a true witness. In the immediate aftermath of the jury decision, Ursala Ward, the mother of Odin Lloyd, was given the opportunity to speak. She spoke openly, honestly, and faithfully. And we could all learn from her example of what it means to witness to our faith.

She didn't try to hide her pain, tearfully expressing that "The day I laid my son Odin to rest, I felt my heart stop beating for a moment. I felt like I wanted to go into that hole with my son, Odin."

And then, standing in the same room as the former star football player who never expressed any remorse for the murder of her child, Ursula Ward spoke some courageous and powerful words:

"I forgive the hands of the people who had a hand in my son's murder...and I pray and hope that someday everyone out there will forgive them also."

And then she sat down.

That is how you witness to your faith, friends.

PS. After I wrote this, I learned that Ursala is actually...an Episcopalian, a member of Church of the Holy Spirit in Mattapan, Massachusetts. See, we CAN do this.

Seminarian Skills Test

Over the next few days the folks at the NFL Network will try to bridge the gap between football and baseball seasons by televising the NFL Scouting Combine. The top pro prospects coming out of college are put through their paces under the watchful eyes of scouts for teams that may potentially draft them. Naturally, I thought it would be helpful for the church to have a similar skills competition for graduating seminarians. This way, freshly minted clergy could show off their skills while hiring rectors and search committees could get a sense of what they were getting before extending a call. Everybody wins, right?

One of the more controversial pieces of evaluation at the NFL Combine takes place off the field. The Wonderlic Cognitive Ability Test consists of 50 multiple choice questions to be answered in twelve minutes. A score of 20 indicates average intelligence. I'm not sure if a player's scores are supposed to be made public but they always leak out. Here's a slideshow with some notable scores.

All of which is to say that we already have the Wonderlic (doesn't that sound like a place Larry Bird might vacation?) equivalent in the General Ordination Exam. Equally controversial -- there's been talk of eliminating it for years -- but overall a decent baseline indicator of fitness for ordained ministry. So that takes care of the academic/cognitive portion. Now on to the fun part: the skills competition.

The Triangle
The marquee event at the NFL Combine is the 40 yard dash. It measures speed and explosiveness, two ingredients necessary to succeed in professional football. For seminarians, the most important event is The Triangle. At a simulated coffee hour, a "parishioner" holding a styrofoam cup of Folgers decaf corners the seminarian and says, "Great sermon today! Your sermons are so much better than the rector's snooze-fests don't you think? If you go tell the Senior Warden to insist Father Dim have you preach more often, I'll support you."

What do you do? Give a knowing nod of complicity and leave it at that? Approach the warden? Or say, "We all have different gifts but I think it's important to hear regularly from Father Dim. I appreciate his approach to preaching but understand not everyone relates to every preacher. If this is such a concern for you, why don't you go talk to the warden? I see her right behind that plate of stale munchkins."

Naming Rights
100 people you've never seen before file past you shaking your hand and saying "Good morning" and occasionally "Nice sermon." While they're all wearing name tags (this is hypothetical) the first pass, they file past you again without name tags. How many can you name? How many do you even recognize? Did we mention they all change their clothes in between?

Preach It!
Each seminarian is asked to preach a sermon on the Trinity (they may as well get used to it). They begin with 100 points. Points are deducted for: every minute past the 12 minute mark; annoying tics like hair flipping or swaying back and forth; use of any of the following words -- paradigm, missional, multivalent, or homoousious; and doctrinal heresy. 30 is considered an above average score.

Coffee Challenge
In order to properly prepare future clergy for long drawn-out diocesan meetings, having to stay up late on a Saturday night to finish the sermon because they had a funeral and a wedding earlier that day, and mornings following a late vestry meeting, it is essential to test their coffee intake skills. Unlike the individual challenges, this is administered in a group setting.

A giant vat of coffee is set up in the middle of a mock parish hall. Contestants line the walls. At the command "The Lord be with you," the seminarians dash to the vat and attempt to consume Herculean (even though he's a pagan) amounts of black coffee. At the end of 10 minutes, the winner will have consumed the most coffee (without dying). If you're not sure how much coffee it will take to kill you, click here.

Let the games begin!

I'm Responsible for Richard Sherman's Rant

 Most of America was shocked when sideline reporter Erin Andrews interviewed Seahawks' cornerback Richard Sherman in the aftermath of his game-saving pass deflection in yesterday's NFC Championship Game. You could feel the adrenaline, passion, and violence coursing off his body as he brashly and threateningly proclaimed he was the best defender in the NFL and trash-talked 49ers receiver Michael Crabtree with whom he had tangled throughout the game.

The interview was brief, intense, and led to an instantaneous backlash on Twitter. He was immediately labeled a sore winner, thug, and much worse. I jumped into the fray as I'd been tweeting a bit throughout the compelling NFC Championship Game. I tweeted the following:

Richard Sherman. Now THAT's showing grace in victory. #yowza

Can somebody please test Sherman RIGHT now? #roidrage

Actually, who am I to judge? I act just like Sherman at coffee hour after I preach a killer sermon.

Fox sticks a microphone in Sherman's face AGAIN? Who's producing this fiasco?

This was nothing compared to some of the racism (both subtle and overt) spouted off after the interview. The image of an angry, fired-up black man with dreadlocks standing next to an upper-middle class white woman with a microphone played into many people's darkest fears. Never mind that this played out on the eve of the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday.

Later, the Stanford-educated Sherman was much more eloquent but the damage to his reputation had been done. Of course this being sports in America, all will be forgiven and forgotten if Seattle wins the Super Bowl in two weeks.

But I admit I'm complicit in this whole scenario. Not because of my tweets (and it's not as if I have that many followers) but because I'm an avid football fan. We expect our warrior/athletes to act like animals on the field and cheer them vociferously for it. Yet two seconds after walking off the field, we expect them to be transformed into model citizens. "Leave it all on the field" means more to us than playing their hearts out -- it means leaving the adrenaline-fueled violence out there as well.

We cheer, adore, and financially reward football players who act like gladiators on the field and excoriate these same men when they display violent  tendencies off it. It's no wonder that the two teams with the most suspensions for performance enhancing drugs this year -- the Denver Broncos and Seattle Seahawks will be playing in the Super Bowl. By rewarding and glorifying this behavior we are all complicit in Richard Sherman's response.

It's no surprise to readers of this blog that I'm an avid football fan -- I even flew down to Baltimore with my two boys for last year's Ravens victory parade. But I admit the game is slowly losing its appeal. Every time I see a jarring hit I now envision the brain whipping around the skull. The acronym CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy) takes its place amid other familiar ones like TD, FG, and QB.

While the NFL continues to be the most popular and profitable sports league in the world, the game is changing. I'm not sure what the future will hold for professional football but I do know that when we revile the actions of players like Richard Sherman, it's important to remember that we created the very monster we condemn.

Why the Pats lost: A pastoral response

As a clergyman, I am always sensitive to the pastoral needs of my flock. As a priest in New England, I realize that many in my congregation are grieving the Patriots loss to the Broncos in the AFC Championship Game. Yet as a Baltimore Ravens fan, I don't really care about their feelings when it comes to football. So I'm torn in my pastoral duties. Since next week is the Annual Meeting and it's best to keep the peace, I'll err on the side of pastoral concern. 

In times such as these, many are left wondering why? Why did my team lose? Why did God do this to the Patriots? Is God mad at me? To ease some of the confusion, I thought I'd share some light on why the Patriots lost to the Broncos. Understanding why is an intellectual response and so Patriots fans will still need time to grieve. I'm sensitive to that and I will walk with them during this painful time. 

Here are the reasons the Patriots lost:

God's wrath for cutting Tim Tebow after the preseason. (Of course he was also cut by the Broncos when they signed Peyton Manning but whatever. God's complicated).

God prefers Anglicans (aka Redcoats) to Patriots (aka religious dissenters).

The continuing Wrath of the Cathedral Nautilus. This doesn't explain the World Champion Red Sox but that was a beard thing.

Punishment for the globalization of Sam Adams Beer.

Aaron Hernandez.

Many patriots in the revolutionary age were Deists.

God's anger at Patriots coach Bill Belichick who lives in Hingham and yet has never darkened the door of St. John's.

The presence on the Patriots' roster of linebacker Dont'a Hightower (of Babel).

Whitey Bulger.

Retribution for tossing all that tea into Boston Harbor.

Actually, I do know that when your team loses deep in the playoffs it feels like you've been slugged in the gut. I feel your pain -- truly.

6 Reasons to Yell "Omaha" in Church

As everyone knows, Broncos quarterback Peyton Manning uses the word "Omaha" while calling audibles from the line of scrimmage. This has gotten a lot of press in the hype leading up to Sunday's AFC Championship Game between the Broncos and Patriots. The word has been trending on Twitter the Nebraska city's tourism department has been milking it for all it's worth (they have lots of cows in Omaha, right?), and Omaha Steaks has been using  Manning's favorite word for marketing purposes.

I was in Omaha once. For five hours. In 1992 when I was still working on political campaigns for a living, I was hired to work on a congressional race in California. Naturally, I had to be there immediately so I drove from Baltimore to California in three days in my old 1985 Ford Bronco II. It was a crazy trip, though the only real blip came when I broke down just outside of Omaha. With all the miles I covered I was thrilled to break down only one mile from a gas station, where I sat for five hours waiting for a part to arrive. So, I'm grateful to Peyton for dredging up this wonderful memory.

Anyway, as I watched the Brady/Manning Bowl I started reflecting on ways the word "Omaha" could be used in liturgy.

At the end of the service the Verger could yell "Omaha" to change up the retiring procession. Perhaps indicating leaving one verse earlier in the hymn than originally discussed.

The Celebrant could yell "Omaha" if he/she decides to call an audible at the altar and switch from Eucharistic Prayer B to Prayer D.

The Congregation could yell "Omaha" if the sermon runs over 20 minutes.

The Rector could yell "Omaha" if he/she hears heresy in the Seminarian's sermon.

The Choir could sing "Omaha" to Anglican Chant just to show off.

The Ushers could point and yell "Omaha" if a visitor doesn't place anything in the collection plate as it passes by.

And if none of these work, maybe I can get the town fathers to approach Hinghamite Bill Belichick to persuade Tom Brady to start screaming "Hingham" before the snap.

Motivational Sacristy Quotes

As football season winds down (what am I supposed to do after church now?!), there will be a dearth of motivational quotes spouted by head coaches. While the only "motivational quote" I keep in my office is the parish mission statement, I think these are great.

But why should motivational quotes be the exclusive domain of football locker rooms? The church equivalent of the locker room is, of course, the sacristy. The liturgical players all gather here before kickoff cum procession. The priest offers a prayer/motivational speech with the acolytes and choir and off they charge down the aisle (at a decorous, stately pace of course).

I thought it would be helpful to offer a few motivational quotes to post in your sacristy. This will keep all the servers motivated and focused for the task at hand. I suggest putting up a new quote every time the church season changes so they don't get stale and the acolytes start phoning it in. Let me know if you think of others. The church needs fired up altar parties!

There's no "I" in Acolyte.

It's not whether you win or lose, it's how the procession flows.

Win one for the Messiah.

Leave it all on the altar.

It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings the dismissal.

Let's all give this liturgy 110% (which is the same fuzzy math as three in one and one in three)

It's not the size of a crucifer but the size of the processional cross that matters.

Show me a bad liturgist and I'll show you bad liturgy.

There is no substitute for preaching preparation.

It's not whether the thurifer gets knocked down, it's whether he gets back up.

Communion isn't everything, it's the only thing.

9 Perks of my team not making the NFL Playoffs

A year after winning the Super Bowl and a run of five straight years making the playoffs, my beloved Baltimore Ravens are done. An ugly loss to the Bengals has sealed their fate and sent them packing. I've already pulled out my Orioles hat and sweatshirt (and socks, mugs, etc) and have figured out how many days until pitchers and catchers report for spring training (43).

It's amazing how much some of us care about our sports teams -- we're passionate, loyal, and (healthy or not) find in them a piece of our individual identities. The highs are higher and the lows are lower when you care deeply. Thus, I'm not ashamed to admit, I'm rather depressed. Oh, I'll get over it soon enough. I know intellectually at least that it's only a game. But it still stings.

While no one has ever accused me of being a raging optimist, I have found the silver lining to the Ravens being shut out of the playoffs. Not having to endure emotionally draining games leading up to the Super Bowl means that...

9. I no longer need to work on my Sunday afternoon ulcer the way southern Californians work on their tans.

8. My post-liturgical Sunday afternoon nap will regain its place of primacy among afternoon naps.

7. I'll once again be able to eat during games without fear of throwing up nachos when the offensive line gives up another sack.

6. The only people acting like sullen teenagers in my house will once again only be the sullen teenagers.

5. I can get back to wearing wear purple only during Lent and Advent.

4. I won't need to go on blood pressure medicine as a direct result of yelling at the refs about the chintzy pass interference calls that are ruining the NFL.

3. When the lights go out at the Super Bowl I won't entertain a JFK-like conspiracy theory.

2. Fewer football references and analogies in my sermons will make the pacifists and non-sports fans in my congregation happier.1. Less cursing on the Lord's Day.

 

 

 

Church Press Conference -- Belichick Style

Bill Belichick press conferences have quickly become my favorite thing about football in New England. His gruff, non-answer Q & A sessions with the media are  comically absurd. "It is what it is" covers everything from next week's opponent to Tim Tebow to defensive coverages to Aaron Hernandez. In other words, Belichick (a Hingham resident I might add) has perfected the art of saying nothing by saying something. Not that clergy could every be accused of that...

Anyway, it made me wonder what would happen if clergy took a Belichickian approach to coffee hour. Here's what I came up with using (more or less) actual Bill Belichick press conference answers:

Q: What happened with the acolytes at the gospel procession? Are you actively recruiting new ones?
A: I'm only talking about the personnel we have. Anything else is speculation

Q: The readings appointed for today seemed to give you some trouble. Are you looking forward to next week's lessons?
A:  I don't decide what the readings are. I'm not going to comment on something I don't have control over.

Q: Are you disappointed by the lack of munchkins at coffee hour?
A: Are munchkins mentioned in the Bible?

Q: Is the vestry excited about the new adult education program?
A: You'd have to ask them about that.

Q: The new Sunday School curriculum looks really engaging. Are you excited about it?
A: We'll see how it goes.

Q: Did you know there are weeds growing in the church yard?
A: I'm responsible for every aspect of church life.

Q: Do you really think adding another service on Sunday morning is going to work?
A: We just try to do what's in the best interest of the parish.

Q: Did you notice attendance is down this year?
A: It is what it is.

Okay, back to post-church football watching.  Love this time of year!

The Theology of Ray Lewis

Just whipped off my latest "In Good Faith" column while basking in the warm glow of the Ravens Super Bowl victory.

The Theology of Ray Lewis

Whenever anyone asks me whether God has a hand in the outcome of sporting events, I have a ready answer. I point to the three little league baseball seasons I coached with a fellow Episcopal priest: we never had a winning season. Granted we weren’t exactly down on our knees in the dugout or teaching our players the proper way to cross themselves in the batter’s box. But you’d think God would have at least sent one power hitter our way or blessed us with an outfielder who could actually track fly balls.

There’s been a lot of talk about God’s role in sports the past few weeks. Sports Illustrated even ran a cover story with the headline “Does God Care Who Wins the Super Bowl?” featuring a picture of Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis emerging from a body of water with his hands clasped in prayer.

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I should tell you I’m originally from Baltimore. I am a passionate, life-long Orioles fan and a huge Ravens fan. As I write this the morning after the Super Bowl, I’m reveling in last night’s events while drinking coffee at Redeye Roasters wearing my Ray Lewis jersey.

It’s no secret Lewis is a polarizing figure -- as a young man he was put on trial in connection with a double murder following Super Bowl XXXIV in Atlanta. He was cleared but charged with misdemeanor obstruction of justice. For some, that connection, regardless of the fuzzy circumstances and outcome of the trial, has forever vilified Lewis. Like most Baltimoreans I believe he’s done an admirable job of turning his life around and have seen first-hand the impact he’s had in that city through charity work and inspiring a generation of underprivileged young boys and girls. I also love his passion for the game of football, admire his leadership skills, and feel privileged to have seen the best linebacker of his era play both live and on television.

I must, however, take exception to Lewis’ brand of public theology. There’s no doubt he has a larger pulpit than any member of the clergy. He can “preach” to millions while most of us are stuck preaching to hundreds. His platform makes the pulpit at the Washington National Cathedral look like a battery-operated megaphone. The problem with this is that Lewis can preach the Gospel According to Ray without consequence or accountability. He claims to answer to God alone but sometimes there’s a fine line between God and Ray and that not only makes people uncomfortable, it can be dangerous.

In the immediate aftermath of the Super Bowl, a reporter asked Lewis, “How does it feel to be a Super Bowl Champion?” He responded “When God is for you, who can be against you?” The implication being that God was “for” Lewis and the Ravens more than God was “for” the 49ers. That’s a slippery theological slope. Does it mean that God preferred one Harbaugh brother over the other? Does it mean that if you pray enough, God will reward you with success and riches beyond your wildest imagination? If you don’t win the big game or get that promotion or get an A on your calculus test, are you a lousy Christian?

This not only turns faith into competitive blood sport, it sets up a dangerous dualistic approach where you’re either on God’s side or not. Everything becomes black and white with no shades of gray. Unfortunately, the human relationship with God is much more nuanced than this -- our faith ebbs and flows, there are moments of inspiration followed by periods of doubt. Like the experience of the Israelites in the wilderness, faith is a living, breathing life-long journey of falling away and returning to God.

In other words, if God is for us, that doesn’t mean there’s an equal and opposite person that God is against. It just doesn’t work that way since God is “for” everyone who seeks God out and takes even the most tentative step toward relationship.

I’m still going to enjoy this Super Bowl victory and wear my purple with pride. I just don’t think I’ll be inviting Ray Lewis to guest preach any time soon.

Replacement Clergy?

This morning  I give thanks -- as I have for the last three Monday mornings -- that I'm not an NFL replacement ref. Talk about receiving the scorn of the nation. Ouch! ESPN highlights your most recent gaffes and follies, players bash you on Twitter, and, while head coaches try to refrain from heaping verbal abuse on you during their post-game press conferences for fear of heavy fines from the Commissioner, their body language and facial expressions hardly belie their true feelings.

You have to pity these folks who are doing the best they can amid an untenable and highly visible situation. Plus those of us who "only work on Sunday mornings" have to stick together. Just kidding -- I certainly hope the NFL and the "real" refs can iron out their (monetary) differences so these replacement refs can go back to their real jobs of selling shoes at Foot Locker.

Of course this got me wondering about what would happen if replacement clergy were used on a Sunday morning. Sure, people like to complain about their parish priests but I think there'd be a new appreciation for them if we brought in replacement clergy one week. Here are some possible consequences:

1. The liturgy would start 15 minutes late because the "priest" couldn't figure out how to tie the cincture (the fancy church word for rope that gets tied around an alb, which in turn is a fancy church word for white garment).

2. No one could hear the opening collect (fancy church word for prayer -- pronounced COLL-ect) because the "priest" couldn't operate the wireless microphone. On the other hand, everyone could hear the "priest's" pre-service trip to the bathroom because he/she got the on-off button confused.

3. Liturgical bedlam would ensue as the "priest" would have no idea when to stand, sit, or kneel. This would likely cause somebody at the 8 o'clock service to break a hip.

4. Not being used to public speaking, the sermon would be an unmitigated disaster. Remembering the words of the third grade teacher who told the "priest" to picture the audience in their underwear, he/she would become flustered and strip down to his/her underwear instead. While this might attract the two new families that Sunday, the parish veterans would be horrified and Tweet pictures to the bishop.

5. There's a fine line between a moment of silence and an awkward pause.

6. The "priest" would completely lose control at the Peace and it would devolve into a coffee hour-like free-for-all. Though, in some parishes, that's the norm so no harm done.

7. Upon receipt of the collection the "priest" would assume this was a tip and pocket all the cash.

8. Prepaing the altar for communion looks easy to those who have seen it done hundreds and hundreds of times in their lives. In practice there's an order to things that doesn't include dumping a chalice-full of wine on the fair linen (fancy church word for table cloth).

9. Rushing out the door and forgetting to eat breakfast, the "priest" would engage in the old 'One for me, one for you' practice at the communion rail.

10. Rather than greeting people at the door following the liturgy, the "priest" would see an opportunity to be the first one to coffee hour. You'd find him/her tossing back munchkins in the parish hall like the Wicked Witch of the East.

So be careful what you wish for the next time you consider locking out the clergy. But remember, if things go away you can always throw one of those liturgical penalty flags.

Liturgical Fouls

Have you ever fantasized about throwing a bright yellow penalty flag into the aisle when the priest wears the wrong liturgical color or the organist plays the opening hymn at the speed of a sick tortoise? Probably not. But with the convergence of the start of football season, the church "program year," and the labor dispute between the NFL and their referees, I saw an opportunity to bring this all together in a blog post. (Bear with me -- it's how my mind works).

To assist you in exercising your God-given (literally) right to good liturgy, I'm offering my guide to liturgical fouls. I urge you to use this empowerment of the laity (and cranky visiting clergy) wisely and with discretion. I'll soon make the penalty flags available on my website for a mere $49.99.

Illegal Procession (out of order)

 Heretical Trinitarian Theology





 Deacon on Wrong Side of Celebrant
Unseemly use of Liturgical Dance (resembling Chicken Dance)

Happy Clappy Worship

Sermon Over 15 Minutes Overly Enthusiastic Peace

Illegal Use of the Orans Position

Pope Paterno?

While I'm not exactly comparing Joe Paterno to the Pope, it's hard not to see parallels between the sex abuse scandals at Penn State and in the Roman Catholic Church. Blind loyalty, concerns about protecting the institution above all else,  gross negligence, and abused children.

This week's headlines screaming about former assistant coach Jerry Sandusky's guilt on 45 of 48 counts of sexual assault must be dredging up tremendous emotional trauma for those affected by abuse in the church.

A lot is made about the culture of both institutions. Paterno is often referred to as the "god" of Penn State Football. People close to the program say that nothing ever happened without his approval or knowledge. Far from being the bespeckled, slightly out-of-touch grandfatherly type -- an image he cultivated -- he was a larger-than-life figure who controlled every aspect of the program and demanded absolute loyalty from his players and coaches.

In the Roman Catholic Church, at least in the past, the parish priest was revered in a "Father knows best" way. To respect and trust the priest implicitly was to respect and trust the entire basis of your faith. When a sacred trust is violated, faith (not to mention the abused), is violated as well.

Like I said, I'm not comparing JoePa to the Pope but there are clearly some parallels in terms of utter, unquestioned devotion and control. This isn't to say that Paterno or the Pope are evil in any way -- if questioned they would obviously be appalled at such behavior. But I do question whether their "protect the institution at all costs" mentality got in the way of their better judgement as these issues were coming to light internally -- before the respective scandals broke.

Any institutional leader sets a tone. I think this is one of the great responsibilities of leadership. The tone varies -- it may be a culture of joy and gratitude; or discipline; or integrity; or creativity. Like it or not, whatever tone is set comes down from the top. When there is dissonance between the tone and the actions of an organization, an erosion takes place. It may be slow but eventually the hypocrisy will be exposed. Sometimes the blow is crippling and sometimes an institution can recover. But unless lessons are truly learned and the culture is changed, it's just putting off future crisis.

Please continue to pray for victims of abuse; both those who have come forward and those who suffer in silence.

It's Not "Only a Game"

Here's an article I wrote for the Baltimore Sun if only to prove that it is possible to write about faith and football without once mentioning Tim Tebow. It's on the Sun's website now and will supposedly appear in tomorrow's print edition on the Editorial Page. Oh, and the other reason I wrote it was so my mother could brag to all her friends in Baltimore.

It's not 'only a game' Ravens' fortunes bind a diverse community with a single, consuming passion

By Tim Schenck

HINGHAM, Mass.-I'm in mourning. Not the kind that involves grief counseling or a call to the local funeral home. I'm mourning the loss of my football team, the Baltimore Ravens, in gut-wrenching fashion to the New England Patriots in the AFC Championship Game.

Of course, I'mnot getting any sympathy around here, living as I do in the heart of Pats country. My day-after-the-game visit to Pete's Barber Shop was an exercise in torture, decked out as it is in Patriots memorabilia. And while I have yet to meet fellow Hingham resident Coach Bill Belichick, I have a hard time believing he'd offer me his hoodie-adorned shoulder to cry on.

There's a terrific sports program called "Only a Game" that airs Saturday mornings on public radio in Boston and Baltimore. It's basically a sports show for the highbrow fan -  you won't find anyone identifying himself as "Lou from Lowell" calling in to suggest the Red Sox trade John Lackey to the Yankees for Derek Jeter. The stories are told from interesting angles and are well-researched, written, and delivered by host Bill Littlefield.

My only problem with the show is the name, because to die-hard sports fans, it's much more than "only a game." Such a title implies an observer's detachment, not a fan's passion.

Yes, every sports fan, when pushed (even ones who have season tickets and wear face paint) will admit that ultimately it is  just a game. Perspective is important, and whatever the sport, whatever the stakes, it's never life and death.

Nonetheless, in the midst of profound grief over a heart-wrenching loss by your favorite team, the perspective doesn't matter. It's not a question of the mind but of the heart - because even though I know the Ravens' loss is hardly the end of the world as I know it, the loss stings.

Days later, I'm still nursing profound disappointment when I think about the game, though the immediacy of that raw, slugged-in-the-gut feeling has dissipated. Yes, even a seemingly mature, thoughtful, emotionally healthy and spiritually plugged-in person can experience profound sports-related grief. I skipped over the denial phase after watching Lee Evans seemingly catch the winning touchdown pass from Joe Flacco and then seeing kicker Billy Cundiff miss a potentially game-tying 32-yard chip shot. I went straight from disbelief to anger to depression, which was only reinforced by the stark photographs of the Ravens players cleaning out their lockers the next day. In sports, unlike much of life, there is a black-and-white finality that defies nuanced shades of gray.

The other reason true fans don't treat their sports as "only a game" is that our teams become part of our identity. I'm not sure "Orioles and Ravens fan" will be inscribed on my tombstone, but it will likely make the obituary one day. Such loyalty allows me to tap into my geographical roots (Baltimore), my emotional roots (my childhood) and my spiritual roots (my late father). This is why we care so much about our sports teams - our loyalties transcend the box scores and standings. There's a reason I own a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium: It's a holy relic from the past that keeps me connected to a cherished time in my life.

As a person of faith, I realize that my true identity has nothing to do with sports teams or social clubs or denominations or schools attended; it is as a child of God. Yet God has created all of us to be interconnected with one another and to be in relationship with others. One manifestation of this is our human associations and shared passions.

I'll get over this loss (I'm not that pathetic), and so will every fan, coach and player. But that doesn't mean it  won't affect us all in profound ways. This is part of the joy of our humanity: We hurt, we heal, we are transformed. Passion and loyalty for things beyond our personal control don't make us delusional - just human.

The Rev. Tim Schenck, the rector of St. John's Episcopal Church, is a transplanted Baltimorean living in Hingham, Mass., a suburb of Boston. His email is frtim1@gmail.com.

A Fan's Lament

There's a great sports program called "Only a Game" that airs Saturday mornings on NPR. It's basically sports radio for the highbrow fan -- you won't find anyone identifying themselves as "Lou from Lowell" calling in to suggest the Red Sox trade Marco Scutaro to the Yankees for Derek Jeter. The stories are told from interesting angles and are well-researched, written, and delivered.

My only problem with the show, aside that I don't get to hear it very often, is the name. Because to die-hard sports fans it's much more than "only a game." Such a title implies an observer's detachment, not a fan's passion. Yes, every sports fan when pushed (even ones who have season tickets and wear face paint) will admit that ultimately it is only a game. Perspective is important and whatever the sport, whatever the stakes, it's never life and death. We may use all sorts of war-like images in football -- the blitz, the bomb, etc. -- but we all know that sports heroes don't compare to actual heroes.

Nonetheless, in the midst of profound grief over a heart-wrenching loss by your favorite team, the perspective doesn't matter. It's not a question of the mind but the heart. Even though I know that the Ravens loss to the Patriots in the AFC Championship Game is hardly the end of the world as I know it, the loss stings. The game's emotional roller coaster ended in tangible grief, something that makes it much more than "only a game."

I'm still nursing that slugged-in-the-gut feeling this morning. And I'm aware that even a seemingly mature, thoughtful, emotionally healthy person can experience sports-related grief. I skipped over the denial phase after watching Ravens receiver Lee Evans seemingly catch the winning touchdown pass from Joe Flacco and then seeing kicker Billy Cundiff miss a potentially game-tying 32-yard chip shot. I went straight from disbelief to anger to depression. Where I'm still lingering as I suck down my morning coffee.

For someone who lives much of his faith up in his head, it's good to know that I can still be in touch with such emotions. The life of faith is always a balance between head and heart. We assent intellectually but experience emotionally. There's a reason I don't like "happy clappy" liturgy (well, many actually) but it's not something I can do with any authenticity. Yet when the Ravens miss a field goal at the end of a hard-fought playoff game I can writhe around the floor like a fired-up Pentecostal. I'm not sure why this is but it's all in there; it's all part of my human make-up.

The other reason true fans don't treat their sports as "only a game" is that their teams become part of their identity. I'm not sure it will say "Orioles & Ravens fan" on my gravestone but it will likely make the obituary. It allows me to tap into my geographical roots (Baltimore), my emotional roots (my childhood), and my spiritual roots (my late father). There's a reason I own a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore -- it's a holy relic from my past.

I realize that my true identity has nothing to do with sports teams or clubs or denominations or schools attended -- it is as a child of God. Yet God has created all of us to be interconnected with one another and to be in relationship with others. One manifestation of this is our human associations and shared passions.

I'll get over this loss -- I'm not that pathetic -- and so will every fan, coach, and player. But that doesn't mean it doesn't affect us in profound ways. And that's the joy of being human -- we hurt, we heal, we are transformed. Passion and loyalty for things beyond our personal control don't make us delusional. They make us human.

Thank you, Ravens, for a great ride this season. And now I feel empowered to face another brutal year as a long-suffering Orioles fan. It's been a long quarter century on that front.

God and Football

So a recently released poll claims that 43% of people believe God helps Tim Tebow win football games. 43%!! If I knew how to use Photoshop I'd totally create a picture of Jesus wearing a Broncos helmet. Here's a link to the article from Fox Sports.

One of the best-known religious athletes was Sandy Koufax who famously refused to pitch Game One of the 1965 World series because it fell on Yom Kippur. Well, he went on to pitch in three more games that series and was named MVP as the Dodgers defeated the Twins in seven games. A lot has been said about Koufax's faith and courage but it has never been suggested that the Dodgers won the World Series that year because God especially smiled upon Sandy Koufax.

I have very little patience with a theology that insists God cares who wins football games or somehow intervenes. There are equally faithful players, albeit less demonstrative perhaps, on every team in the National Football League. Is their faith somehow less important or does God just really dig "Tebowing?" It's a very slippery slope.

And anyway, if you want further proof that God could not care less about the outcome of sporting events, I have my own Exhibit A. Last spring and summer another Episcopal priest, Tom Mulvey, and I coached our 10-year-old sons' baseball team. With this rationale you'd think our team would have been a shoo in to take the little league World Series in Hingham. I think we won three games all season.

No, we didn't do any Tebowing before games and I guess we could have created a pre-game ritual involving two bats in the form of a cross at home plate. And, believe me, with the players we had it would have taken a miracle to win more games. But if two clergy coaches couldn't get a break why would anyone think someone else should?

Don't get me wrong. As a huge Baltimore Ravens fan, I was delighted to see the Broncos bounce the Steelers out of the playoffs last weekend. I just can't imagine God sitting in a La-Z-Boy chair watching the game on a big screen TV and deciding who should win.